


Might've Started Singin' Just A Little Soon

by Hari_Aisu



Series: Coffee's for Closers [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Tropes, all aboard the fail train!, choo choo mother fucker, cliches, coffee shop AU, derek has a problem, he doesn't like to be told no, he has a stiles, more feels this installment, stiles has a problem, uh oh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-24
Updated: 2013-08-24
Packaged: 2017-12-24 12:50:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/940200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hari_Aisu/pseuds/Hari_Aisu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek was all about boundaries. </p><p>In fact, he would go on record as to saying that he loved boundaries. </p><p>They were the only consistencies he actually felt any affinity for growing up in a house full of women who loved to push until they got their way. </p><p>From Cora trying to sneak into his room and being allowed to actively deny the little wretch access to ducking an interrogation from Laura over his dating habits because it was, as his parents repeatedly said, none of her damn business, boundaries compromised of a majority of the happiness he had in his, admittedly mostly downtrodden, life. </p><p>When he didn’t have these boundaries…</p><p>Things happened. </p><p>And not very good things, either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Might've Started Singin' Just A Little Soon

  

Derek was all about boundaries.

In fact, he would go on record as to saying that he _loved_ boundaries.

They were the only consistencies he actually felt any affinity for growing up in a house full of women who _loved_ to push until they got their way.

From Cora trying to sneak into his room and being allowed to actively deny the little wretch access to ducking an interrogation from Laura over his dating habits because it was, as his parents repeatedly said, none of her damn business, boundaries compromised of a majority of the happiness he had in his, admittedly mostly downtrodden, life.

When he didn’t have these boundaries…

Things _happened_.

And not very _good_ things, either.

 _Especially_ relationship-wise.

Stiles, on the other hand, was not someone who realized what boundaries actually were. The younger man was basically Derek’s antithesis when it came to keeping up and respecting other people’s limitations.

He actively pushed the envelope on what was acceptable, socially, emotionally and most definitely physically, and did so with no remorse whatsoever.

Derek could get behind the physical aspect. He could get behind it so hard that he was pretty sure the last time they did so, they were both seeing stars for a good 24 hours afterwards.

Socially, he had a bit more trouble swallowing the ridiculous things that Stiles would do and say, often shaking his head and just letting Stiles do his thing. Derek, who was so socially inept that it was funny to most people, often contributed to the ridiculousness without even realizing it. He had learned not to be embarrassed about this fact a long time ago but that still didn’t squash the initial reaction to cringe every time the younger man smirked and a crowd snickered or stared, quite clearly appalled at their actions.

Now the part where Derek had the most trouble acclimating was on the emotional front.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t care about Stiles. He loved the barista in a fierce manner that he had never really felt before. Derek was absolutely sure in the feeling and not even the slightest bit doubtful that Stiles returned the sentiment in some way, shape or form.

He still hadn’t told Stiles, though. And if that wasn’t a big tip off on how much Derek loved his boundaries just as fiercely… he didn’t know what was.

 

* * *

 

“ _What_?!” Derek exploded, jumping off of the sofa in an eclectic spasm of limbs that put even Stiles’ random flails to shame. Stiles coughed as he landed on the floor, having been lying directly on Derek’s shoulder before the screech and jump of _death_ practically scared him onto the ground. “ _Just_ , WHAT?!”

“It was just a question, Derek!” Stiles rubbed his elbow, not sure how to take the reaction to a simple ( _ok, not simple, even Stiles could admit he had thrown Derek a fast one_ ) question. “There’s no need to freak out!”

“Stiles, we haven’t even been together for a whole year yet, we’re not ready for that kind of commitment! I haven’t even… even…”

“Commitment?” The spastic brunet asked as he got up and brushed himself off, now getting more angry than confused. “Are you actually telling me that we _aren’t_ in a committed relationship already, Derek Hale? Because if that’s the case, _Derek_ , I may have to kill you. _Dead_.”

“No,” Derek sputtered, “I didn’t mean it like that! You heard that wrong!”

“That’s how it came out, how the hell did I hear it wrong?!”

“Well, you aren’t listening to what I’m trying to say!” Derek felt the rise of panic thrum through his body and pulse at his eardrums, not sure how to de-escalate this argument and not have Stiles leave the apartment in a huff. “I meant that we aren’t that… serious… yet?”

“THAT’S THE SAME THING, DEREK.”

Derek cringed, knowing that he was losing ground and fast. The whole situation was frustrating and confusing and _how could Scott do this to him, oh my God_. “I haven’t… even… said I love you, yet.”

At that, the enraged expression on Stiles’ face grew cold then contemplative, stuck between bemused and agitated. Derek was quite sure that this was his boyfriend’s constipated face as well but he wasn’t going to make the joke. Not today, anyway.

“Yet?” Stiles murmured in a voice that did not match his earlier momentum. “ _Yet_. You don’t… yet?”

“I just… don’t you feel like we’re moving too fast?” Derek gave a last ditch effort to contain the explosion before it combusted and he would be unhappily single and without his favorite barista once again. “We’ve only been together about nine months. I want us to _both_ beready for that next step and if we just rush into this because _Scott_ thought it would be a good idea, we could be wrecking everything we’ve built so far. Stiles, you have to know that I’ll want you to move in eventually, right?”

“Hm.” The younger man stayed suspiciously quiet but didn’t move when Derek invaded his space and pulled him into a hug, arms limp by his side but head carefully cradled against the larger writer’s shoulder. “I… I guess.”

“I care for you so much.” _I love you so much_ , Derek meant to say, but he couldn’t. He wouldn’t let the first time he said the words be when he and Stiles were fighting(?). “I don’t want you to doubt my feelings for you. We will get to that point when we are both ready and it will be something that we will _both_ feel good about. I can’t wait for you to move in with me and wake up knowing that you’re right there, I just don’t think we’re ready for that yet.”

Derek cocked Stiles’ head back a bit, green eyes meeting amber. “Let’s do this one step at a time, huh?”

Stiles bit his lip and nodded, but there was a distinct coldness around his visage. Even though he sat back down and resumed his place by Derek’s side, holding onto him as if it were the last time we would be able to, Derek was positive that they had never felt further apart than in that moment.

 

* * *

 

Derek’s relationships did not have a good track record.

Part of the reason that Derek had not wanted to approach the beautiful college student had been because of this fact. Add in the age and personality difference and it was a slew of _bad ideas_ just waiting to boil over.

From Kate, to Paige, to Jennifer, and every nameless face thereafter, they never lasted, even when Derek did everything in his power to make them do so. It always felt as if he put much more effort into a relationship than his significant other and yet he was still somehow left behind.

Add in the family factor ( _more like the Laura Factor_ ) and he was always left in shambles after every relationship’s finale. The few friends he had would have to pick up the pieces and everyone would always coo at him afterwards-

‘ _Poor Derek._ ’

‘ _How could he have known?_ ’

‘ _Always the sucker, isn’t he?_ ’

‘ _Why does he even bother?_ ’

‘ _It’s like he’s a magnet for crazy women with vendettas and weird guys with torture porn fetishes, really_.’

‘ _Yeah, what an idiot._ ’

As you could see, he had horrible friends.

But he digressed.

What Boyd and Erica didn’t understand was that he didn’t mean to try most of the time. It was like he was enraptured and he felt _compelled_ to go in for the relationship kill. He just didn’t have the greatest compass when it came to picking out people.

But Stiles was different. Stiles was beautiful, and selfish, and strange, and funny, he wasn’t the least bit perfect and _God_ , that just made Derek want him _more_. Stiles was the epitome of a kind person wrapped up in the shell of an asshole and the dark-haired author was so attracted to that, he was quite sure that he would break a blood vessel in his brain trying to contain himself when it came to wanting Stiles.

Derek didn’t want anyone else. He was quite sure that he was going to spend the rest of his life with his lover and he was so on board with this plan, it was _marvelous_.

The problem, which Derek would soon come to find out in a not-so-fun way, was that Derek was overly cautious when it came to their relationship.

When faced with someone who was _not_ the least bit guarded about their feelings and jumped into things head first, things were not bound to end well.

 

* * *

 

The first item left behind had been inconspicuous.

Derek hadn’t really thought much of it, to be honest.

It was just a book.

 _It was just a book_.

He really should have known better.

Because it is never _just_ anything with Stiles.

But he hadn’t thought anything of it. Because it was _just_ a book and Stiles was coming back tonight and who cared about a stupid book?

So he put it back on the coffee table within his living room and sat back down on his couch, wondering what mind-numbingly horrible reality show to rot his brain with as he procrastinated in finishing up the latest chapter of his manuscript.

Because it was _just a book_.

Stiles was secretly cackling during his Criminal Studies class and Derek didn’t even have a clue.  

 

* * *

 

“Stiles,” Derek blinked as he stared down at the coffee mug on his counter, confused and just a tiny bit befuddled “what is this monstrosity and why is it in my house?”

“It’s my Walking Dead mug, shut up.” Stiles grabbed the mug away from Derek’s scarred eyes, pout on full display. “I love it and it’s mine and I need it so shut up, it’s staying.”

“Does it need to be _here_?”

“… Do I need to be _here_?”

Derek said nothing else as he grabbed another mug from his cabinet and plopped it down on the counter. Stiles put the cup back down, clearly demanding coffee in recompense. The zombified face now in clear view seemed to smirk up at him, taunting him with its disgusting entrails leaking down its face, sunken eyes laughing with triumph.

Stiles squealed as he took his first sip of coffee, clearly just as joyous as the zombie-mug in question.

Still, Derek didn’t realize that this was not the endgame.

Oh no.

Stiles was in it to win it, baby, and he was already fifteen moves ahead.

 

* * *

 

Derek sighed as he leaned back against his soft computer chair, not sure how his eyes could continue to take this torture. After a good three hours of doing nothing but typing, he was quite sure that he was going to go insane with the need to go outside and _breathe._

God, he hated needing to go outside. It was full of people. And things. _Things filled with people._

Jesus, he was going to need a bubble or something because there was just too many people on Earth and things to try to think about.

As he stretched his arms out above him, jade-green eyes wandered from the computer screen and onto his desk-

Where a very suspicious photo was now sitting, innocuously still but fervently strange in its place because it was not supposed to be where it was now sitting.

_Damn it, Stiles._

The picture was simple in its entirety, both men happy, even if one of them was reluctant to display said happiness. Stiles liked to call it Derek’s Frump Face, half-filled with grumpiness and attempted agitation but still semi-happy with it’s strange tiny smile and relaxed posture.

“ _Why Frump though?!” Derek asked, face horrified as they walked along the boardwalk._

_“Uh, it’s short for Funny-Grump Face, duh!” Stiles continued chomping down on his Skittles, obviously not realizing just how much of Derek’s world view was skewed with that one sentence._

_‘Mother of God,_ why?! _’_

Derek tried to want to slam the picture down against the desk and not have to look at the glow of his expression when he was trying to stay focused on the tragedy that was his character’s life story, but he couldn’t.

Stiles made him _happy_.

How the hell was he supposed to be all angsty _now_?!

Derek would obviously have to speak to Stiles about sneaking things into his study when he was trying to concentrate on unhappy things that didn’t make him want to grab his boyfriend and ravish him until he couldn’t even breathe but he didn’t move the picture.

He finished the chapter with no casualities, eyes darting from the screen to his adorable barista at random intervals.

But Stiles didn’t need to know this.

Derek was quite sure that if he ever found out, he would be bombarded by pictures of their random adventures _everywhere_. And nobody needed to see all the embarrassing things that Stiles managed to hassle Derek into doing when no one else was around.

 _Nobody_.

 

* * *

 

It was very often that Derek and Stiles’ affection devolved into sexual tension and the more inappropriate the place, the stronger the tension.

In this case, they were both wrapped around each other in Derek’s living room, huddled along the couch as they tried to stick as close to the other so that neither man would fall off the narrow surface. What had started out as a cuddle session had slowly turned into a snarking session which then transformed into a wrestling match/tickle fight.

If anyone else could have seen Derek’s inevitable decline into this snuggle monster that Stiles had created solely for himself, they would have probably had a stroke from all of the cute.

Stiles giggled ( _yes,_ giggled) as Derek nuzzled his neck, coarse stubble scratching against the sensitive skin perched between the long column of his neck and the junction towards his shoulder. Derek found the noise to be positively endearing, once again rubbing up against that spot in an effort to produce more of the same sound.

Instead of laughing, Stiles let out a low moan at the renewed contact, hands coming up from where they had been lingering on Derek’s hips towards Derek’s broad shoulders, fingers lightly skimming the dips and curves of the muscles tightening and twitching along his back.

Lips hovered over the smooth skin presented to them, luminescent hazel-green eyes fluttering upwards so that they could catch just a bit of that expression that Derek so loved to see when Stiles became enthralled without meaning to. Burnt-golden eyes were already dilated, the body they belonged to flushed and pressed tightly so that every nook and cranny that was left open against Derek’s own bulky figure was encompassed by Stiles’ own lithe curves.

Carefully dragging his tongue upwards, Derek gently licked at the skin before kissing the bobbing Adam’s apple and then nipping at it. Grabbing at Stiles’ hips, he steadied the body squirming beneath his and, knowing how much the younger man hated it, slowly brought those coltish legs up around his waist and ground his burgeoning erection upwards in a motion so delicious that both men had to bite back a gasp at the contact.

“Derek,” Stiles groaned, not content to just lay there and do nothing. “Derek, lube?”

“Don’t need it,” Derek heard himself say, hands already thinking of all the ways they could do this without getting up. His hands felt clumsy and oaffish as they reached for the zipper of Stiles’ jeans, not even bothering with their shirts. “Don’t need it, just want you anyway I can have you, 'k?"

And wasn’t that the story of Derek’s life.

“Want you…” Stiles whimpered quietly, one of his hands coming up to grip Derek’s neck so that he could look him in the eye. The gorgeous picture of his boyfriend’s glazed over expression, so open and wanton, nearly made Derek combust right there. But Stiles wasn’t done, not by a long shot.

“Want you _inside_ , please? _Please, Derek_?”

Well, _shit_.

It wasn’t often that Stiles begged but-

 _Shit_ , what the hell was he _waiting for_?!

Without any of his earlier finesse, Derek stumbled off of the couch and ran to their emergency lube station ( _don’t judge_ ) and opened the bottom drawer of the half-hidden bureau and was then _bombarded by lube_.

Literally. _Literally_. It came down in a cascade of tubes, different tastes, scents and temperature properties falling onto his lap and floor like a waterfall of brands aching to be used.

Derek was sincerely confused.

“Stiles, what’s all this lube doing here?” Normally Derek was _not_ against the idea of more lube because _more lube equals more orgasms,_ but the amount was shocking and Derek was _positive_ he hadn’t bought more than a tube the last time he made a trip to the pharmacy to pick up some condoms as well. “Are we stocking up for something? You’re not going through some hoarding stage are you? With lube? Because… that might actually be a good idea, forget I said anything, yes please, let’s have all the lube forever.”

“Do you need a reason for more lube?!” The expression that had enraptured Derek into getting up was no longer there but the frustration built over those furrowed amber-brown eyes were just as enticing. “Just grab one and get back here, oh my _God_!”

Derek decided that some questions were never meant to be answered _and oh shit, he loved Stiles, why was he questioning his lube choices, this was amazing!_

 

* * *

 

Later on, after both men exhausted themselves in each other, Derek would blink and think back on the waterfall of lubricant and wonder why that had seemed so _strange_ besides the obvious reason it was weird.

Stiles would grunt and bury himself deeper in Derek’s arms and he would just shrug, not thinking anything more of it.

 

* * *

 

Derek finally started getting suspicious when he found a blanket-type-object thing on his bed that _most definitely wasn’t his_.

_What._

Derek lifted the orange and blue atrocity to his nose and sniffed it.

The almost normal scent of pine and musk met his olfractory senses, bringing a sense of calm that Derek didn’t quite know he needed until it had settled over him like a warm weight within his stomach.

“Stiles,” Derek called out, still astoundingly confused, “what is this _thing_ doing on my bed?”

Stiles, who had been absently chewing on some Twizzlers, turned his head to the side but kept his eyes focused on the television plastered against the wall. He was sprawled on the bed at the strangest angles but somehow looked more comfortable than Derek did at his most relaxed. Derek had accepted that his boyfriend was not normal but that didn’t mean that the way he positioned himself didn’t still garner some weirded out looks.

“I sleep with it sometimes. Problem?”

Now normally when Stiles threw out that _word_ Derek was quite quick to reply that _yes_ , there was a _problem_ , thank you very much. But the way that Stiles’ eyes snapped from the television to the monstrosity of fabric clinging to Derek’s hands was a dead giveaway that if what he said was in any way formed into a combative argument, Stiles had no _problem_ in snatching the thing out of his grip and stomping his way out of the apartment where the blanket-thing-monster would no longer _be_ a _problem_.

So Derek had a decision to make.

And he wanted to get laid tonight.

So.

“No problem.” He said rather quickly, throwing the badly-knit swath of fabric back onto the bed and prepared for a night full of orgasms and intense glaring at pumpkin-colored invaders.

The twitchy brunet squirmed against the bedsheets, still staring at the blanket that was now hanging off of the ledge of the bed, waiting to be pushed off by a very impatient Derek.

“My… my mom made it for me before she died.” Stiles said, wanting the statement to come off as an after thought, but not really achieving the blasé needing to do so.

Derek halted his movements.

“I don’t have a lot of stuff left from her that I can still use,” Stiles continued on, “so I kinda still hold onto it, ya know?”

From someone who had a big family and wouldn’t know what to do with himself if he lost _any_ of them ( _even Laura_ ), the surly writer was sure that he did. Understand, that is.

Though he was tempted to flip the thing off of the bed after another look at it, he didn’t.

He could do that much for Stiles, at least.

 

* * *

 

Item after item made itself into Derek’s place and still he didn’t say a word, not truly finding it all strange. They were things Stiles needed or accidentally left behind, so it wasn't as if it were a big deal.

The hairbrushes that weren’t full of dark hair but instead golden-brown.

The DVD’s that were all compromised of crappy horror movies and weird Sci-Fi television series that made absolutely no sense to anyone but the nerds that followed them.

The random spurts of clothing that would migrate from the ground to his hamper to his _drawers_ , what the hell?

It all finally came to a head at the sight of not one but _two_ toothbrushes on his bathroom sink counter, one a steely blue and the other a bright magenta with spikes of purple zigzagging down the side of the brush’s grip. You could guess which belonged to which man and damn it, _that wasn’t supposed to be there, what the HELL, Stiles?!_

At that moment, Derek finally ( _finally_ ) realized just what it was that Stiles had been doing and he quickly became _livid_.

Because this was not what Derek had wanted for their relationship.

He had created his boundaries _for a reason_.

He was trying to save their relationship, not damn it into oblivion!

So he waited for Stiles to come home, anger building until it was boiling past healthy and headed straight into ragefully-stupid territory.

Because when Derek got like this, common sense went out the window. And though he didn’t realize it yet, he was certainly going to regret it when it was all said and done.

 _Vigorously._  

 

* * *

 

Stiles had no idea what he was walking into when he got home.

 _Home_.

That sounded so _good_.

The smile that had crept on his face on the walk _home_ had been blinding, every person who passed him by grinning back at him into return. There was a warmth to the young barista’s visage that couldn’t be snuffed out, and many a customer had tried these past couple of weeks. Stiles had been an impenetrable fortress of happy and he didn’t know what to do with the feeling as it was still so _new_.

Granted, Derek wasn’t in the _know_ about why Stiles had been so happy, but that would soon change.

Stiles had initially thought that Derek had been speaking against their relationship when the idea of moving in together had been presented to the older man and he had been so vehement about not wanting to do so but Stiles understood now. Derek had not been untrustworthy of their affections for each other. He had been _afraid._

And Stiles could deal with that. He was an _expert_ on fear and all things anxiety, thank you very much.

So slowly, after about a week of thinking about it, Stiles’ invasion had begun.

It was just little things here and there, trinkets and books, magazines and notebooks, not really hidden from sight but still unnoticeable enough that Derek wouldn’t be able to pin anything on Stiles but would still see Stiles’ possessions and think of the brown-eyed college student when he wasn’t there.

But Stiles couldn’t be just content with little things. Oh no.

After that, it became a challenge to see what he could leave and how long it would take Derek to notice that things in his apartment weren’t just Derek-friendly.

He had felt a bit guilty at first.

Derek had wanted to wait for a reason.

But, Stiles would think to himself, was it even a _good_ one?

It had been almost a month and a half since their last conversation about the subject of moving in and they were almost a year in their relationship. When was Derek going to stop being so afraid of change and embrace what they had?

That was why Stiles continued to push. That was why the sly student had decided that in order to change his mind, Stiles would have to be even _more_ obnoxious and determined than he usually was. He wanted Derek to feel comfortable and safe in their relationship, of course he did, but he also needed to feel wanted and secure himself. Derek was only thinking of himself and if that was the status quo they were going for, Stiles would push it to the limit until Derek was _forced_ to confront the full scope of their relationship and realize that they had been practically living together for the last month and _no_ , they hadn’t broken up, had they?

 Stiles was ready for a confrontation of epic proportions. He was ready to present his side and willing to apologize for the invasion of space if it _really_ came down to it, but he wouldn’t back down.

What Stiles wasn’t ready for was to see all of his stuff thrown out of Derek’s apartment, packed up in clear bags and sitting against the wall of the hallway as if they were waiting to be picked up and taken somewhere else. Stiles wasn’t ready for the sight of Derek taking out one last bag, obviously not seeing him from his vantage point, and shutting the door as if that was it.

This was done.

He had thought about knocking the door and demanding an explanation, an argument, a fight-

But he didn’t.

The corner of his blanket, the one his mother had made for him when he was seven years of age and staring up at his mother in a hospital bed, barely able to do much else than sit there and knit, peaked out of one of the bags and hung lifelessly on the side of the plastic wrap.

Stiles had been ready for a lot of things, but the one thing he had most definitely not been ready for was goodbye.

**Author's Note:**

> I just. 
> 
> I'm sorry. 
> 
> Blame Derek and Stiles. They are about that life, apparently. 
> 
> Next Installment: Stiles has a revelation in concerns to coffee and his relationships, Derek tries to be less of a Fail-rek, and Sheriff Stilinski is a BAMF dad who will not put up with this bullshit. You're welcome. 
> 
> (don't kill me! Idk how this story is becoming so... THIS.)


End file.
